Syrina
by SassyAngel05
Summary: Syrina Khasinau runs The Covenant. Thing is, she's 17. She's connected to Rambaldi and Sydney and she has to fulfill her destiny. SarkOC SS, SarkAllison. Last Installment! Thank you so much for rr!
1. Default Chapter

Title: Syrina

Author: Vona

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Sark/OC, S/S undertones

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I still didn't own them.

Genre: Romance, Adventure

Spoilers: The Two, maybe a little bit of Succession...

Summary: Syrina Khasinau, Alexander's daughter, comes in to rescue Sark and beat Sydney to the Telling.

****

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter One_**

**_Youth_**

            Syrina Khasinau waited impatiently, her foot tip tapping against the packed dirt.  Sark was supposed to be here by now.  Sydney Bristow had said she would trade him for the page.  She hated it when people were late.  It was completely disrespectful.  She was young, only seventeen, but she was the co-head of the new terrorist enterprise, The Covenant.  She and Sark were in charge of the organization.  Syrina was beautiful, silky brown hair and bright green eyes, tall and thin, the quintessential teenager.  She was what every seventeen-year-old girl wanted to be except for the cold-blooded murderer thing.  She was beyond intelligent, speaking seven languages fluently.  She was agile and flexible and strong.  She stared down the dusty road and waited.  The sun beat down on her, each strand of her chocolatey hair glittering.  A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. She sighed as she wiped it away.  She hated sweating.  Finally, a large, black SUV ambled down the road and came to a stop.  Sydney Bristow stepped out, sunglasses blocking her eyes.  She yanked Sark out of the SUV and he stumbled.  His initial appearance shocked Syrina.  He was much thinner and his beautiful blond curls were shorn into a prison cut.  Even his blue eyes seemed dull now, though, the instant he saw her they lightened.  Sydney stepped forward.  

"You're a little young to be doing this, aren't you?"

Syrina narrowed her emerald eyes.  She hated it when people mistook age for experience.  She replied in a clipped Russian accent, "I'm old enough, Agent Bristow."

"I'm at a disadvantage.  I don't know your name."

Syrina smiled coldly.

"We haven't been introduced yet, have we?  I'm Syrina Khasinau."

Syrina paused, waiting for Sydney to absorb the information.

"Alexander Khasinau's daughter."

She made no movement, but spoke instead.  "Now, the switch."

She produced the Rambaldi prophecy page that she'd already deciphered and interpreted.  This prophecy was the key to Sydney's disappearance, along with the other part that had disappeared over time.  It was part of The Telling, The Two.  Sydney pushed Sark to Syrina as she took the page.

"My employer thanks you for your cooperation."

Syrina knew that would send the CIA into a frenzy, trying to discover who owned The Covenant.  Little did they know, they were already in contact with both of them.  Idiots.  Syrina stood beside Sark, waiting for Sydney to drive off.  The first thing Sark taught her was to never turn her back on an opponent.  They could turn on her in a moment.  Sydney did eventually drive away and Syrina led Sark to her blue convertible.  She revved the engine and pulled onto the road, leaving a trail of smokey dust behind her.  Sark was quiet for a few moments, then spoke, "You got your driver's license."

"A lot can happen in two years, Andrew."

"So it can.  So who exactly are you working for now?"

Syrina smiled at him, her straight white teeth shining at him.

"Myself.  You and I are in charge.  I have several people working under me.  I just started up the organization three months ago.  My first job was to acquire part two of The Telling.  It mentions what will happen to The One.  All we need now is what The Two's part in it is."

"Wonderful.  Which agency do I own now?"

"The Covenant."

Sark tilted his head, his mind floating back to the day they'd made the covenant.

**_*Sark had been eighteen for a couple of months.  Irina had recently promoted him to her other right hand man, other than Alexander Khasinau.  He and Allison had decided to go out and celebrate and Syrina had overheard them making plans and begged to tag along.  Syrina was barely thirteen.  Beautiful for her age, Sark had to remind himself of just that.  She was thirteen.  Besides, he had Allison.  Syrina had been raised in the life.  Sark himself had been training her with guns, sais, and hand-to-hand combat lately.  They were at their favorite cafe, Jolie's Cafe, eating.  Allison excused herself, probably for a cigarette break.  Or maybe for a Syrina break.  Allison hated Syrina.  Sark had never understood it.  Syrina was a sweet and charming girl.  She was intelligent and a quick study, he could see her becoming an excellent spy.  But still, Allison despised the girl.  Syrina scooted her chair in, taking a sip of the Petreuse he'd given her.  It was a special occasion.  She made a face as the sour liquid slid down her throat, but quickly disguised it when she noticed Sark staring at her._**

**_"I'm so proud of you, Andrew."_**

**_"Thank you."  He did sincerely appreciate her pride.  _**

**_"You're like the youngest person to be in charge of a division of Irina's organization."_**

**_Syrina was so well liked, she even knew who The Man was.  That was more than he could say for Allison._**

**_"I am the youngest.  Never mistake age for experience, Syri.  I am just as good as your father, if not better at spying."_**

**_Syrina nodded.  "I know you're that good.  I'm working on it."_**

**_"You'll be there someday."_**

**_"What if you get captured? You're going to be in more danger being in charge."_**

**_"I won't get captured."_**

**_"But what if you do?  How will you get away?"_**

**_Sark shrugged it off.  "I'll always have you to help me."  He was flirting with her now.  He couldn't resist it.  She scrunched up her nose cutely._**

**_"I promise I'll always rescue you if you get captured."  Syrina was completely earnest in her promise and Sark realized just how worried she really was.  He smiled at her indulgently and tapped her on the nose.  "And I promise I'll always keep you safe, Syrina."_**

**_Syrina returned his smile, leaning against the seat of her chair just as Allison returned.*_**

Sark settled himself in the plush leather seat, feeling suddenly like he'd failed her.

"Thank you for getting me out, Syri."

Syrina knew what he'd been thinking about.

"I promised you.  I'm just sorry it took me so long to get you out.  I had to make a lot of plans."

"I never expected you to fulfill that promise. You're hardly seventeen."

"So.  You never acted like age mattered."

Her gaze had swiveled from the road to Sark.

"It doesn't."

"You always pushed me to be better."

He sighed.  "Come now, no fighting between us now.  I haven't seen you for two long years.  Tell me what's been going on with you."

"Allison came to Moscow.  She's alive."

"I thought Sydney had killed her."

"Almost did.  She shot her three times.  Allison's working under us."

"She agreed to work with you?"

"To get you out, yes."

Sark nodded.  "What else?"

"I learned Spanish and German."

"Excellent."

Syrina fell quiet, turning her attention back on the road.  She gripped the steering wheel as the wind blew her long brown hair like a banner behind her.  She muttered softly, "I missed you, Andrew."

Sark reached over and squeezed her hand.  "I missed you, too, Syri."


	2. Conference

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Two_**

**_Conference_**

            Sydney was seated inside the conference room at the Operations Center.  She was actually being allowed in one of the meetings.  She had a distinct feeling that it was because she'd met this new player in the field.  She was partnered with Agent Weiss, which didn't really bother her.  Weiss was one of the few who didn't treat her any differently than he did before.  Weiss and Marshall.  Sydney waited impatiently as Dixon pulled up some pictures on the screen.  It was one of a younger Sark and a girl.  It had to be Syrina, though she only looked to be about twelve.

"Mr. Sark and his partner known as Syrina Khasinau.  From what I've seen, they've known each other for nine years.  Though Mr. Sark is a known free agent, he has remained dedicated to Syrina.  She's the daughter of Alexander Khasinau and started spying when she was fourteen.  She's remained fairly low key until she joined The Covenant, the new terrorist group.  She has shown to be top level in this organization.  She appears to be quite innocent, which works to her advantage since she is far from it.  We have absolutely no idea who the head of The Covenant is.  The request for Sark's release was the first time The Covenant contacted us.  I would guess it was Syrina that demanded Sark's release."

Sydney stared at the picture.  Syrina was so young.  A sudden wave of sympathy crashed over her.  Syrina's young face looked hardened, but her eyes seemed so alive when looking at Sark, even through the photograph.  Sark was gazing down at her, a small smile gracing his face.  His admiration of her was obvious.  He was handing her a perfectly wrapped package, the moment seeming so normal.  She looked up when she realized all eyes were on her.

"What?"

"I asked you about your meeting with Syrina."

Sydney nodded and began.  "She was smug, arrogant even, and definitely intelligent.  She wasn't afraid and she has a fairly good game face.  She got right down to business and didn't turn her back on me.  She obviously knows what she's doing, no matter how young she is."

"There's a new part of Rambaldi's manuscript.  The last part of the prophecy.  It's about The Two.  We need it to complete the pages.  It was recently in the possession of some monks in Sri Lanka, but was stolen.  It was found in Italy, at the home of Roberto Gelili.  We want to beat Sark there.  Weiss, Sydney, here are your covers.  You leave tonight."

Sydney stood up, taking the folder Dixon handed her.  Vaughn started to speak, but she glared at Vaughn and his wife, Lauren.  She was not going to pretend she was happy about the recent situation.  And that included not making the office any more comfortable.

            Sark entered Syrina's bedroom silently.  He whispered, "Syri?  Are you awake?"  She was snuggled deeply into her pillows, a fluffy blue comforter surrounding her shoulders.  Her eyes were shut and her breathing shallow.  She looked so peaceful, Sark began debating whether he should wake her up or not.  But this was way too important.  Besides, they'd be leaving Spain soon.

"Syrina, are you awake?"

He heard a loud groan as she pulled at her pillow and replied with a "Nu uh."

"I need to talk to you."

"Syrina is shleeping right now, pleash leave her alone and she'll get back to you tomorrow morning."

Sark shook his head and sat himself on the edge of her bed.  He tugged at her comforter, yanking it off of her.  She growled and curled into a tiny ball.  "Go away.  I'm sleepy!"

She sounded her age at that moment.  Sark brushed some of her hair off her face, and leaned down.  His hands roamed down her body, stopping at her sides.  He tickled her and she squealed.  "You evil man!"

"Yes.  What about it?"

Syrina glared at him.  "What do you want?"

"We're leaving for Italy in four hours."

"Why?"

"The ending of The Telling has resurfaced in Rome."

Syrina's eyes widened and she sat up.  She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"The Two?"

"Yes.  And I'm sure by now the CIA has heard about it.  We want to beat them to it."

Syrina slid out of bed, going to her amoire to pull out a pair of jeans and a shirt.  

"Just let me take a shower first, then we can go."

"All right.  I'll have Rissa pack a bag for you."

Syrina nodded.  "Okay.  I'll be ready in an hour."

"Wonderful."

Sark stood to leave.  "I'm sorry I had to wake you, Syri."

"This was important, so I'll let you get by with it this time.  But next time, you lose something..."

Syrina strutted away to the bathroom, leaving Sark there, shaking his head.


	3. Egyptian

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Three_**

**_Egyptian_**

            Syrina flipped her chin length black hair out of her eyes.  She hated wigs.  They always made her scalp itch.  But disguise was one of the best ways to ensure her success tonight.  She'd placed blue contacts in her eyes and outlined the rims like an Egyptian.  The party in Italy was, of course, a costume party.  She wore a plain linen shift with elaborate jewelry, which doubled as a decoder, a weapon, and a communication link with Sark.  They were both dressed as Egyptians and for such odd disguises, they blended right in.  Sark took a hold of her arm as he considered how ecstatic he was to be back in action.  He'd missed the thrill of chasing after something, being in power of his life.  He liked to have control.  Of course, he despised the ridiculous costume he was in, but he wanted to meld into the crowd of insane partygoers, not stand out.  He nodded to several people who passed drunkenly by and handed Syrina a champagne flute.

"Wait five minutes before you go upstairs.  I intend to distract the guards.  Are you ready for this?"

"Yes, Sark."

He smiled slightly in amusement, though Syrina took it as a condescending smirk.  Syrina only addressed him as Sark when she was annoyed with him.  "I haven't seen you for several years, Syri."  He started as an explanation.

"And I've managed just fine without you.  I found part of The Telling on my own.  I retrieved it on my own.  I got you out of CIA custody ON-MY-OWN!"

She emphasized each on my own.  "I can do this just fine.  ON-MY-OWN."

He put his hands up in mock surrender, realizing he should have known better than to doubt Syrina Khasinau's talent.  She'd always been a natural.

"Syri, I was just making sure, all right?"

Sure, Syrina thought, now he tries to mend fences with me.  She harrumphed at him and waved him away from her.

"The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can leave.  I have a bad feeling about tonight."

That was what worried Sark.  Syrina was often plagued with premonition-like feelings.  If she was feeling bad about this, she probably had a right to.  Syrina strutted across the gigantic ballroom, an air of confidence around her.  She'd really grown up in the two years he'd missed.  Just as she walked away, Sydney and Weiss entered, dressed as Sonny and Cher.

            Sark had kept his eyes on the entrances while he waited for Syrina to get into place.  He hadn't seen Sydney enter yet and that gave him a bit of hope.  Maybe she wouldn't come.  Maybe she hadn't heard about The Two.

"I'm ready, Andrew."  Syrina's voice whispered into his earpiece.

Sark cried out as he fell to the ground.  He rolled his eyes back into his head and shivered.  A whole group of attendees stopped what they were doing and surrounded Sark.  One came forward, holding him down as he shook.

"I'm upstairs."  Syrina muttered.  Sark let his shaking continue for a few more minutes before he stopped.  He opened his eyes and sighed in exhaustion.  He acted like he'd just noticed the crowd around him and blushed appropriately.  "Seizures.  I apologize for the disruption."

"Are you okay, Signor?"  One waiter asked.

"Of course.  I've lived with these all my life.  I'll be fine."

            Sydney saw a man collapse in front of her.  He wore a costume, but she recognized him instantly.  Sark was here.  She used his distraction to her advantage and hurried across the ballroom to the stairs.  The guards were both gone.  Sydney smiled to herself and quickly opened the door, sliding down the corridor.

            Syrina removed her necklace and unscrewed the first part.  It was her decoder.  She ran her hands deftly over the wall and instantly felt the almost undetectable line where the wall had been cut out.  She pressed on the bottom and felt it unlatch.  She pushed the square wall section away and a metal safe stared back at her.  She placed the necklace piece over the keypad and waited for the combination to show up.  She punched in the number and opened the safe.  Inside was a box.  It had wooden slats and looked fairly crude for a box.  Burned on the side was the Rambaldi 0.  Syrina grinned at the accomplishment and pulled it out.  She'd found The Two.  She pried the box open with a silver letter opener on the desk.  The lid clattered to the ground and inside laid the last brittle page of The Telling.  She rolled it up and slid it into her pouch on her golden belt, turning to leave.  Unfortunately, she hadn't heard Sydney stop in front of the doorway.

"Nice of you to do all the hard work for me."  Sydney said calmly.  

Syrina shrugged.  "You think that was hard?"  It was a mixture of taunting and disbelief.  Sydney stood directly in front of the door, challenging Syrina.  Syrina scanned the room for another exit, but found the study completely windowless.  Besides, she didn't want to jump from the third story, but she could if she had to.  Syrina placed her hand on the desk in front of her, her other hand wrapping around the wooden Rambaldi box.

"Just give me the page, Khasinau."

"Sorry, Bristow, but I can't do that."

Syrina tossed the box across the room with a sudden force that surprised Sydney.  Sydney ducked to avoid the crashing box and jumped away.  Syrina took the opportunity to dash out of the study.  Sydney grabbed her arm as she reached the hallway and pulled her back.  Syrina jumped over Sydney's outstretched leg, then ducked when Sydney punched.  Syrina brought her arm up in a right hook, smashing into Sydney's jaw.  Sydney grabbed Syrina's arm and twisted it into a painfully awkward position as Syrina kicked her knee into Sydney's stomach.  Sydney doubled over and Syrina chopped Sydney in the back of the neck.  She kicked Sydney's legs out from under her and Sydney collapsed flat on the ground.  Syrina felt a small sense of satisfaction at beating Sydney up.  Syrina sprinted away from Sydney and disappeared into the crowded room.

            "Darling, I heard about your seizures.  I'm so sorry I wasn't here."  Syrina said as she broke through the crowd that covered Sark. 

"It's quite all right, Precious."

"What have I told you about leaving home without your medication?"  Syrina placed an adoring arm around Sark's neck and dropped a kiss on his cheek.

"You scared me!"  She scolded.

"I'm sorry, Precious.  I promise I won't leave home without it anymore."

Syrina stepped back and helped Sark out of the chair.  "We must go home now.  You need your rest."

Syrina excused them from the group of people and the two walked out of the huge mansion without anyone else thinking to stop them.


	4. Gentle

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Four_**

**_Gentle_**

Syrina giggled as they reached Trevi Fountain in the center of Rome.  She spun around in huge circles, feeling completely accomplished.  Sark watched her, her joy rubbing off on him.  "I take it everything went off without a hitch upstairs."

"More or less.  I had to fight Sydney, but…"

"Sydney was there?"

Syrina stopped her exaggerated dance and nodded.  "Yeah.  She was in the study when I got finished.  I had to fight her, but I totally kicked her butt!"

She seemed like she was nearly glowing.  She'd defeated one of the most well known agents in the entire spy world.  She'd found the end of The Telling.  She had Sark back with her.  Everything was going perfectly.

"Sydney is an excellent fighter, Syri."

"Yeah, she is.  But I'm better."  She knew how conceited she sounded, but at the moment, she didn't care.  She started to jump around happily again.

"I didn't even see her come in.  I would have warned you if I'd seen her."

"She was dressed up like that bloody awful singer that sang in the seventies.  Cher!"

Sark wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"She probably came in when you were distracting everyone.  I didn't see anyone else so she most likely used her distraction for her advantage.  That's what I would have done."

"Do you have the page?"

"Of course." She brandished the page with great ceremony.  Sark lifted her up in his arms and spun her around a few times.  He was so playful with Syrina.  He didn't know what it was that touched him in the way she did.  He wasn't always all business with her.  She didn't expect it from him.  He tumbled down to the ground, keeping Syrina from falling next to him.  She landed on top of him and they laughed.

"You're insane, Andrew."

"I know."

"I'm so glad you're home."

"I am as well.  I just wished I hadn't missed two years of your life."

Syrina leaned over, her lips hovering above Sark's.  They looked so perfect and pink, a little crooked on the bottom.  It was at that moment that Syrina realized how much she'd loved Sark and how much she wanted to kiss him.  The moment seemed so magickal.  She lowered her mouth onto his.  Of all the things she'd done, she'd never been kissed.  She never really had the chance to have a boyfriend.  She didn't know anybody her age.  Sark and Allison were the closest to it.  She could feel herself slowly melting as she tingled from head to toe.  Eventually, it was time to pull away.  Sark stared at her for so long after that kiss.  She felt herself tugging at her wig uncomfortably.  He was scrutinizing her.  Sark knew.  He had to.  She'd been terrible at kissing.

"Syri…"

He started it gently and she could feel her heart sink.

"You are absolutely perfect in everyway and you know I love you…"

"But I'm like your little sister."

"No.  You're like a girl who's under eighteen."

Syrina shot him a look.  "You'll break every other law except that one?!"

She sounded surprisingly frustrated. 

"I think you're young and you need more time to grow up."

Syrina glared.  "I'm a sodding spy, Sark!  I've been grown up since I was eight!"

Sark brushed his hands through his hair, then realized it was still gone.  He stood up, feeling nearly as frustrated as Syrina did.

"That was your first kiss, Syri."

"No.  It wasn't!"

"I know you.  Don't deny it.  There's nothing wrong with that.  You just deserve someone so much better than me.  Someone as perfect as you are."

Syrina blinked back the tears in her eyes.  She couldn't let him see how upset he'd made her. She tried to compose herself, to put her game face on.  She rolled over and jumped to her feet.

"I'll see you in Moscow."

"The plane is waiting for us."

"I'll not be going home with you.  I need to be far away from you."

Syrina sprinted away from him, leaving the Rambaldi page fluttering behind her.  Suddenly, the missions she'd been on no longer seemed to matter.  Sark sighed, picking the manuscript up.  He started walking in the direction Syrina had gone.  He had to follow her.  He couldn't leave her alone in the city.

            Syrina pushed open the door to a bar.  It was crowded, half full of old men who were undeniably drunk and half full of college students out partying.  Syrina approached the bar and pulled herself up on one of the hard metal stools.  

"I want a double shot of whiskey."

She waited and the bar tender scanned her over.

"You don't look old enough to be ordering that alone, Signora."

"I'm old enough."

Syrina fixed her working glare on the bar tender, who immediately averted his gaze as chills ran down his spine.  Something about this girl was so cold and calculating.  She almost scared him.  He quickly poured the whiskey in the shot glass and placed it in front of her.  He took his leave of her, setting the whiskey bottle up next to her.  Syrina tipped the glass back and gulped.  It tasted horrible.  She didn't like the way alcohol tasted.  She simply felt an overwhelming urge to drown her sorrows.  She glanced about the bar and realized people were staring at her.  It was probably the costume.  It sort of attracted attention.  Or maybe it was her age.  That seemed to be a problem with a lot of people.  She banged on the bar to order another shot, then realized the bottle was next to her.  She lifted it to her lips and swigged.  She'd been so stupid.  She hadn't meant to kiss Sark exactly.  It had just happened.  And now she was absolutely miserable.  She took another sip.  She should have known better!  What had possessed her to do that?  Why was Andrew trying to let her down so gently?  She had seen his eyes.  He'd always looked at her so sweetly and lovingly.  Had she misinterpreted it?  She was usually an excellent judge of people's emotions.  She could sense love, fear, anger, bitterness, all of it, an entire array of feelings.  She couldn't have been mistaken.  Except she had.  She tipped back another swig and wobbled a bit in her chair.  She hiccupped and giggled.  She slid down the bar stool and swayed a little bit.  She took another sip from the bottle and turned when she heard the door jingle.  Sark had entered; wearing one of his usual Armani suits.  Syrina gripped the bottle and took one more swig.

"Syri, I think you've had enough for tonight."

"Like you c-care."  She pointed at him accusingly and felt her feet stumbled forward.  Sark reached out to catch her, but Syrina pushed him away with a sudden, steady force.

"No!  Jusleave me 'lone."

She turned away from him and suddenly the room was spinning.  It was sort of like being on a tilt-a-world.  Or at least what she had remembered from that one time Daddy had taken her to an amusement park.  She'd been four.  Sark straightened out.  "You're drunk, Syrina."

It was said in a mixture of guilt, disgust, and sympathy.

"So what if I am?"

Syrina held her hands out in front of her to stop Sark from moving forward.

"Just come back to the plane with me, Syri."

"No.  I won't go with you."

She sounded like a spoiled two-year old.  Sark paused and it was almost like he decided to try a different approach.

"I didn't know you had such a palette for whiskey."

Instead of protesting, she bit out, "Yeah, well, a lot changed in the two years you were gone."

Syrina glared at him, but she couldn't keep her eyes from watering.  She was angry with herself and angry at Sark.

"Syri, Love, come to me."

Syrina stepped forward, but instead of going into Sark's embrace, she pounded her fists on his chest.  In her less than sober state, the punches felt more like light thumps that were hardly even noticeable.  "I hate you!  I hate you so much!"

She yelled at him before passing out.  Sark grabbed her before she hit the floor.  She'd consumed so much alcohol and he blamed himself for every sip.  He'd followed her to the bar after changing clothes.  He'd observed her for an hour, watching her drink herself into a stupor.  Then, he'd gone in to take her home.  He slipped a $100 to the bar tender to cover Syrina's drinks and lifted her carefully in his arms.  

            Syrina woke with a jacket covering her arms.  Her wig was gone, but she still wore her linen shift.  She started to rise up when a wave of nausea struck her.  She was acutely aware of a soft thrumming around her, but she wasn't sure if it was separate from the sharp ache that filled her skull.  She groaned and clutched her head, leaning over from the pain.  Memories of the night before flooded back from the kiss to the screaming to the blackness.  She didn't quite remember what had happened after Sark had come into the bar.  Syrina surveyed her surroundings and realized they were still flying.  She hadn't reached Moscow yet.  She stood up from the seats and wobbled for a minute.  She stumbled into the second section of the private plane and saw Sark sitting in a chair with his laptop.

"Andrew?"

He looked up and acknowledged her.  Barely.

"Are you doing anything special?"  Syrina questioned, hoping for a more in depth answer.  She received a crisp no.  Syrina sighed and plopped into the couch.  Sark didn't say anything for a few moments, so Syrina took the time to study him.  His face was blank, but his eyes, those gorgeous blue orbs, were filled with regret and anger.  He was probably feeling immensely guilty about kissing her.  One thing for sure, Sark had always remained loyal to Allison, even if she didn't remain loyal to him.  Little did she know Sark was internally warring himself about the severe failure of his responsibility to Syrina.  He'd promised to always take care of her and he hadn't.  He'd betrayed her.  He stood and walked to the small refrigerator, pulling out a small bottle of water.  He unscrewed the cap and retrieved some aspirin. He unceremoniously handed it to her and waited for her to swallow them.  She accepted the aspirin gratefully.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Sark turned then stopped.

"Listen, Syrina, I'm sorry about last night."

Syrina stared at her hands that were wrapped around the cool water bottle.  She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say.  She was still upset with him.

"It wasn't your fault I got drunk, Andrew."

He seemed upset, too.  Cool, calm Mr. Sark was uncomfortable.

"Maybe not, but I shouldn't have let any of last night happen."

Syrina sighed and stretched across the couch.  "You are not responsible for me.  I am responsible for me.  Each of my actions were my fault and of my own accord.  I went to that bar with the intention of getting drunk.  And I did.  Let's just stop being angry with each other, okay?"

"All right."

Sark walked back to his chair and settled in.

"We'll be in Moscow in an hour.  Allison should meet us there."

Syrina nodded obediently before closing her eyes to block out the world.


	5. Dissention

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Five_**

**_Dissention_****__**

Sydney had hardly been back in Los Angeles when Dixon called her into his office to reprimand her for losing the page.  He was incredibly disappointed she hadn't succeeded in acquiring the third part of The Telling.  

"Sydney, this page could have helped us find out what happened to you over the last couple of years."

"You think I don't know that?"

Sydney slumped in her chair, not feeling like being on the receiving end of a lecture, though she did have a few things she'd like to say.

"Well, it didn't seem to make you work any harder to get it."

Sydney wondered briefly what had made Dixon turn into…well, Kendall.  He was so controlling now.  Not at all the kind-hearted patriot she'd once known.

"I tried, okay?  You think I don't want to know what happened to me?  I blacked out for two years!  I was fighting Francie and then I woke up in Hong Kong.  I have no idea what happened over two years of my life, Dixon!  I tried."

Sydney looked down at her lap, thinking that she did have an idea of what had happened to her.  She just wanted it to be wrong.  Really, really wrong.  She'd had this flash of a man on his knees, begging for his life.  She'd fired the gun without any sign of remorse.  She wanted it to be wrong.  Maybe it had been a nightmare, not a recollection.  The stress of returning was catching up with her.  It had felt so real.  She realized then that Dixon was staring at her.

"Hmm?"

"Do you know where Sark and Khasinau would have taken it?"

Sydney shrugged.  "I didn't overhear them making plans for their escape or anything."

"I'll have Marshall see if he can locate Bonnie and Clyde."

Sydney nodded and stood; ready to leave.

"Be ready to leave when I need you to."

Sydney nodded once more and left the office.

            Syrina stood in the plain white laboratory.  Moscow was cold and bare, snowing everywhere.  She did love the snow.  She hadn't been back to Russia in a while.  Syrina felt at home in her birth country.  Allison had met them at the airport and picked up on the uncomfortable tension between the two.  She seemed delighted at the dissention.  It was probably because she hated Syrina so much.  She'd always wanted to see Syrina fall out of favor with Sark.  Syrina had never understood Allison's blatant dislike of her.  It hadn't ever really bothered Syrina that much.  She hadn't really cared if Allison despised her.  But to watch Allison gloat over her battle with Sark just royally ticked her off.  Syrina bent over one of the lab tables where Sark and Allison already stood.  Syrina watched as Allison tried to break the Rambaldi code.  She'd scribble on some paper, then mark it out.  Sark was examining the previous parts of The Telling, not even aware of the difficulty Allison was having at decrypting the words.  Syrina stepped smugly forward, a sudden urge to best Allison spreading over her.

"Let me, Allison."

"I've got everything under control, Syrina."  Allison envious reply came.  It was still hard to adjust to Allison looking like Francine Calfo.  They'd never been able to reverse the process of the genetic sequencing, so Francine's face was what she was stuck with.

"You look like you do.  What does the first word say?"

Allison stared at the foreign words, trying to make it make sense.

"Seriously, Allison.  I could have this thing decrypted in twenty minutes or less if you'll just get out of the way."

Allison stood stubbornly in front of the papyrus page and leaned over the magnifying glass.  Sark seemed to become suddenly aware of the quarrel occurring next to him.  "Allison, Darling, Syrina has always had an affluence for codes and languages.  Let her have a go at it."

Syrina caught Sark's eye and for a moment, everything seemed back to normal.  Allison noticed the look that passed between the two and as always, she felt left out as they had a silent conversation.

"Fine." She said it angrily and Syrina shot her a triumphant smirk.  Syrina pulled the pad of paper closer to her and uncapped a pen.  Her eyes scanned the page before writing down the decoding in her own bubbly writing.

     The One who has brought on part of the Apocalyptic End will return to her life before she fulfilled her destiny.  The device will leave her with lost time and only The Two will be able to trigger her memories.  The Two will unite with The One and it will be up to The Two to determine the result of the world.  She can bring The End or she can survive the world.  Her genetic sequence will determine her choice.  Still a child, she shows amazing talent and accelerated knowledge in worldly things.  Growing up alone, her heart will be sure and steady.  Innocent and guilty, her mind sharp, her way particular and special, she will do as instructed.  Forced into her life without much free will, she will quickly heighten her position, forming her own business and trusting only one.  The Protector.  The Protector will be there always, guiding her, teaching her, protecting her.  And it is when she is nearly adult that she will have to choose her side, a definite line drawn and crossed.

     Underneath the encrypted words was a sketch much like the one from Page 47.  Syrina watched as the image came into view after she spread the solution over the page.  Staring back at her was an image of herself.  Her hair hung around her shoulders, her eyes wide and haunted.  Syrina dropped her pen, startled at the sketch.  She hadn't expected to see her face appear.  Sark glanced over to see what had surprised Syrina and found himself looking at an exact replica of Syrina's features.  Syrina began to back away from the table.  She'd always been taught to revere Milo Rambaldi's work from her father, Irina, Sark even.  He was a prophet who was rarely wrong and a genius to say the least.  He'd named her as The Two.  The prophecy was her responsibility now.  She didn't want it.  She knocked against a chair, pushing it back.  "Syri, this only…"

Syrina was gone in a flash, not caring what Sark had to say.  She had to get out of the lab.  Sark sighed and picked up her translation.  The implication of Syrina's new found calling struck Sark as he read down the paper.  He needed to find her.  Immediately.  They needed to discuss their next course of action.  Allison tore off her piece of paper and wadded it up.  She tossed it in the trashcan.  Pretty soon, Syrina would have Sark in the palm of her hand all over again.  She watched Sark go after her and she felt her fists balling up at her sides as she angrily watched Sark become an unknown player in Syrina's power trip.

     Syrina pulled her winter jacket close to her body.  Her breath puffed out in floaty white clouds and she felt at peace as each clear white snowflake floated onto her head.  She heard the snow crunching behind her and knew Andrew had come to talk.  She closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the sky, enjoying the biting cold that Russia usually brought.  She stepped over a fallen log, then decided to sit on it.  Sark was buttoning his coat, slipping his gloves on.  He took a seat next to her and placed his hand on her arm.

"Syrina, I read the translation."

"I can't do all that.  It doesn't even sound like I really have a choice on which side I'll choose to be on."

"It's all right.  It's going to be just fine.  You have to believe."

"Sydney won't work with me.  I don't trust her and she doesn't trust me.  It's how we were brought up, Andrew."

Syrina pushed her gloved hands through her long brown hair, moving it off her neck and collar.  She groaned, bending over and clutching her knees.  An overwhelming need to cry and scream and wail overcame her.  She just wanted to run away from Rambaldi and spying altogether.  She was in way too deep to get out now, no matter how much she wanted to.  Sark pulled Syrina to him, no longer feeling awkward or upset with her.

"Oh, Baby Girl, I know this is hard for you."  He crooned.  "Rambaldi's prophecy has left a huge responsibility to you.  Still, you must accept it."

"Why?"  
"It's your destiny, just like it is my destiny to protect you."

"Why can't I just ignore it?  Nothing will happen if Sydney Bristow never remembers her life as an assassin."

"Sydney Bristow is incredibly determined.  She's going to discover what happened, even if you don't trigger it.  But if you do, we can make Sydney trust you."

Syrina sighed and shoved her hands in her pockets.

"What's the plan?"

She seemed resigned to her fate that had just dropped into her lap.  Sark kissed the top of her head.

"I'll let you settle in to this prophecy and I'll come up with a stellar plan because that is what I do."

He grinned in an effort to cheer her up.  Instead, Syrina buried her head in his chest, breathing in his expensive cologne, a familiar scent she remembered from her childhood.  She wanted to block herself out from the world and Sark was the only one who could do that for her.  She sobbed quickly as the weight of everything crashed down on her.  The hot tears contrasted with her freezing face.  Sark held her and let her be a regular seventeen-year-old girl except for the fact that she was hysterical over the decision of whether or not to bring an end to the world.


	6. Plan

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Six_**

**_Plan_**

            Syrina woke up screaming that night.  She rarely had nightmares, but when she did, they were pretty terrifying.  It was probably from the added stress of knowing she would be part of an Apocalypse.  Sark opened the door to her bedroom and poked his head in.  She was heaving breaths and she realized she was sweating.

"Syri?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.  Sorry. I wasn't trying to wake you up."

"You didn't.  I couldn't sleep.  I had a lot of plans to outline."

Sark walked across the room and leaned against the edge of the mattress.  The pair didn't speak for a few moments as Syrina's breathing regulated.  A memory of a nine-year-old Syrina screaming in horror and a fourteen-year-old Sark comforting the little girl until she calmed flashed through both of their memories.  

"What was your dream about?"

"Oh, the usual.  Running from danger, falling off a cliff sort of thing."

Both knew she was lying to him, but as usual, they moved on to a more comfortable topic.  Sark wasn't one to press her into telling him about something she wanted to keep to herself. 

"All right.  Why don't you go on back to sleep?"

Syrina shook her head.

"I don't think I could.  Tell me your plan.  It'll distract me."

"Okay.  Sydney is under constant surveillance by the CIA because they don't really trust her.  We'll have to get past the guards and disable the cameras.  Hopefully, we'll enter into her bedroom without any trouble.  We'll have the Rambaldi trigger with us and you'll have to set her memories in motion.  Then, if everything goes as planned, we'll discuss her past with her and explain that we must to instill a sort of trust in us in her brain."

"And if she's smart enough to know not to trust us?"

"We force her to come with us.  She can help us complete the prophecy by choice or she can be forced into it.  That will be up the prophecy is fate.  She'll trust us because The Telling says she will."

Syrina nodded at that explanation.

"We'll bring her back here and the rest, Syrina, is up to you."

Syrina collapsed back into her pillows and pulled the covers over her head.   She wanted to hide.  Sark stretched out next to her, staring up at the ceiling.  Syrina peeked out from under her blankets and glanced over at Sark when he sighed.

"It's hard to believe that all this has happened.  Both of us were taught that we had to complete Rambaldi's work.  It was supposed to be more important than anything else.  My entire life has been dedicated to Rambaldi's work, 22 years!  Yours has been much the same.  Now that we've put everything together, all I want to do is destroy it all.  Syrina, I just, I've seen how much damage it's caused and I don't understand the obsession.  Irina's, Sloane's, even Khasinau's.  What good is the prophecy and completing the work since it seems so completely useless."

Syrina grabbed a hold of Sark's hand and situated herself on his chest.  She stared up at him with pleading eyes and spoke, "You can't doubt this, Andrew.  I'm too scared of it.  You're the one who has always been confident in Rambaldi.  I only believed in him because of you."

"I do believe in his work.  I just, I don't know.  It's really hard to explain it to you, Syri."

Syrina squeezed his hand, whether it was to comfort him or to comfort herself, she wasn't really sure.  Just knowing Sark was there helped.  Syrina closed her eyes, her eyelids suddenly seeming too heavy to keep them open.  Sark's hand started to stroke her silky hair in a gentle gesture, to reassure himself of Syrina's self.  The two dozed off into restless slumber.

            Syrina tightened her ponytail as she and Sark rounded the corner.  Across the street a van was parked conspicuously, spying on Sydney's house.  Syrina held back as Sark strolled confidently towards the front door of the house.  Syrina crossed the street and listened for the commotion from the interior as they realized the terrorist Mr. Sark was parading in front of them.  Syrina kept one eye on the door and one eye on Sark, admiring him from afar.  He was definitely worth admiring.  Any minute now the agents would inevitably burst out.  As if on cue, three agents jumped from the van and Syrina shot each one with a tranquilizer.  She didn't need to kill them, just put them in a nice long sleep.  She sprinted across the street once more and met up with Sark, who had disabled two cameras.  Syrina picked the lock on the front door and the two entered.  Sydney was nowhere to be found.  

            Sydney flipped the television on, scanning channel after channel.  She used to never have time to watch TV and when she did, it'd been two years ago.  Since then, a lot had changed.  She was bored.  She didn't really know what else to do.  She felt like she was under a microscope, going from therapy to a home under watch.  It was like she had no time to be on her own.  She collapsed on her bed dramatically, wishing she had something to break up the monotony of the days and nights.  Dixon hadn't let her go on any missions since the last one, so even her talent was being wasted.  At the moment, she couldn't imagine her ever wanting to be out of spying.  She used to wish it, but how bored would she be?  But maybe she should forget about it all.  She could go be a teacher.  She had the certifications.  But then again, she'd be like Vaughn.  She wouldn't follow in his footsteps.  Speaking of footsteps, she was positive she'd heard some.  She turned to the door and yelped as a tranquilizer dart hit her in the neck.  The last thing she saw was Syrina's smug smirk from the door jam, before everything went black.

            Sark shook his head, disbelieving.  "Syrina, that was not part of the plan!  You went against my instructions!"

Syrina shrugged nonchalantly as she placed the tranquilizer gun back into her messenger bag.  "So?  This works just as well.  I'm the one in the Rambaldi prophecy.  I should have been the one to come up with the plan."

"You couldn't have mentioned your change in tactics before you shot Sydney with a tranquilizer dart."

"It's not like I killed her, Andrew.  Get over it!"

She put her hands on her hips, challenging him to fight her on this.  He wanted to, but he knew they didn't have the time.  The CIA would realize that the guards were down and that the surveillance was out and they'd come to the house.  They needed to be gone when the CIA arrived.  He walked over to Sydney, pulling her up carefully into his arms.

"You're on your own when you explain to Sydney why she's where she is."

"Fine.  I'm not scared of her."

"Maybe you should be."

Sark brushed past Syrina and hurried down the stairs to the car parked around the corner.  Syrina followed irritably, not knowing why Sark was so mad.  It was her choice.  She was the one who had to trigger Sydney's memories.  She should choose how to do it.  It would be easier to prompt her memories while she was unconscious.  It'd probably less painful for both of them that way.


	7. Vanished

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Seven_**

**_Vanished_**

Syrina had gone into Avignon while Sydney slept.  Sark was waiting with her, in case she did wake up.  Syrina had triggered Sydney's memories as soon as they'd reached the cottage.  A Rambaldi trigger had been discovered along with the other artifacts.  When Arvin Sloane had constructed Il Dire, the trigger had remained detached from it.  Syrina had heard about the device through a contact and she'd broken into Sloane's National Relief Organization Office to retrieve it.  That man was obsessed, no doubt about it.  Sloane had been furious when he'd discovered that the trigger was missing.  Syrina had kept it over the last several months, unsure of what the small mechanism was, but positive of its importance.  Everything had fallen into its perfect place as she'd received all the intel.  Now that she'd started the process of Sydney's recollections coming back to her, Syrina had grown bored.  Sark didn't actually know she'd left the house, only that she had gone to her room.  He would probably become angry with her when he realized she was gone, but he would just have to deal with it.  She was seventeen!  Normal seventeen-year-olds went to the cinema or went shopping with their mates.  She didn't have any mates besides Sark nor did she have a sudden desire to view a movie in French.  She wanted to get away.  She found a small shop down the road that looked perfect.  It appeared to be privately owned and that meant cute, useless items she could waste her money on would be there.  She stepped inside and a surprising attack of nostalgia hit her.  Regret for never having a real home or a mother to guide her to attending high school or a university crashed over her.  The shop seemed warm and homey, nothing she'd ever felt.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle.  Vous est-ce que besoin de aider?"  A boy about her age asked, walking towards the door.

"Non, Monsieur.  Je suis regarder.  Merci."

He tilted his head, studying her.  "You're English?"

He asked, switching to English.

"Russian, actually.  I do speak French fluently.  And English.  And a bunch of others."

The boy smiled warmly.  "Well, I could use practice on my English."

His eyes were bright and innocent, something Syrina envied greatly.  His blues eyes were striking, his black hair slightly shaggy.  She liked this stranger and that rarely happened.  She was always leery of new people.  In fact, she was leery of people she did know.

"My name is Christopher.  I have seventeen years."

The corners of Syrina's mouth turned up before she turned to strut down the aisle.  He seemed momentarily confused at her leaving in the middle of the conversation.

"What is it that you are called, Mademoiselle Mysterieuse?"

Syrina paused, grinning at his nickname.

"Syrina."

He stepped respectfully away as she glided down the aisles.

            Sark stormed angrily down the street.  Syrina had disappeared once more.  It wasn't so much that she'd vanished; she did that from time to time.  It was that she'd left Sydney.  Syrina wouldn't do that, not at such a critical moment.  It was possible she'd been captured.  Still, in the back of his mind, a tiny voice reminded him that she was seventeen and she could be flighty.  He still couldn't shake the nagging worry that she was alone and hurt somewhere.  He had to find her.  He continued down the small path and stumbled upon a tiny shop.  Syrina had always loved little boutiques like this one.  They sold homemade products and it was exactly a place where she would go.  He entered the shop and a light tinkling of a bell announced his presence.  He'd been right.  Syrina stood in front of a boy, holding a bottle of perfume.  She was smiling sweetly, her body tilted to him.  She was flirting!  She probably didn't know she was.  Still, a surge of jealousy powered through him.  The boy grinned at her, gesturing to the bottle.

"You made this perfume?"

"My mother did.  She enjoys making the perfume."

"I would love to buy this.  It smells delicious."

"You may have it.  She will not mind if I give it you."

Sark stormed forward, not able to watch another second. 

"Syrina Aleksandria Khasinau, what the hell were you thinking?"

Syrina stiffened and turned towards Sark.

"I was bored, Sark.  So sorry I didn't want to sit around and watch the paint dry."

Her green eyes were flashing anger and challenge.  Sark stepped to her, towering over her slightly, hoping to intimidate her.

"I had to leave her because I thought you'd been captured.  You cannot continually vanish, Syrina.  I had to leave several guards with her and you know she'll wake up while we're gone.  It will be nearly impossible to get her to trust us now."

"You didn't have to search for me, Mr. Sark.  You are not my baby-sitter."

"Perhaps I should look into hiring one."

Syrina placed her hands on her hips, daring him to force her to leave.  Sark didn't move, both of their game faces were in place.  Cold.  Dark.  Scheming.  Christopher felt like he was intruding on a moment, or a battle of wills.  He'd never seen anyone clash like they were.

"We are leaving, Syrina."

"No."

Sark stepped forwards and grabbed her arm.  Syrina twisted and kicked Sark in the stomach to make him loosen his grip.  His fury glowed on his face and for a moment, Syrina debated surrendering to his wishes.  She almost did.  Her inner voice told her not to give in.  He was just being a stubborn, insensitive monster, for lack of a better word.  She was not going to leave.

"You want to fight me?" He asked it almost incredulously.

"You may have trained me, but I've improved while you were gone."

Syrina spoke confidently but inside she felt far from it.  Sark refused to fight her.  He would not hurt her that way.  Not now.  She'd grown up and he hadn't seen it.  The little girl who would always tag along on his missions and meetings was nearly an adult.  Sure, she was acting childishly now, but it was simply a way to rebel against him.  He was stifling her.  He'd been out of CIA custody for two weeks and he was already smothering her with the life.  He felt an instant of self-loathing, unusual, but still existing.  He stood down, lowering his voice to the typical smooth, soothing British tone.  "Syri, buy your perfume and let's go.  We have work to do.  You've had your break."

Syrina sighed, wondering if she should be feeling defeated or victorious.  She'd gotten her way, hadn't she?  At least that's what Sark wanted her to think.  He'd sounded so tired when he'd told her to buy the perfume.  Had she been the one to exhaust him?  She turned to Christopher, who's face was marred with confusion and worry.

"I'd like to buy this."

"I told you, Mademoiselle Mysterieuse, that I do not wish to take your money.  It is my gift to you."

Syrina shrugged slightly.  "Thank you, Christopher."  
"Come back to the shop, Syrina.  We will always be open to you."

Syrina flushed, her eyes unable to meet his or Sark's gaze.  "I won't be in town much longer."

"That is too bad.  Perhaps you will be able to come say good bye."

"She is saying good bye."  Sark snarked out, possessiveness rushing through him.  Syrina bowed her head and marched out of the store, no longer wishing to think about Christopher or Sark.


	8. Conversations

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Eight_**

**_Conversations_**

            Sydney woke up, feeling disoriented.  None of her surroundings were familiar, nor were the two men that stood watch over her at the door.  She remembered sitting on the bed in the safe house and then Syrina shooting her with a tranquilizer dart.  Of course.  She was a prisoner.  She tried to sit up, but found that her wrists were handcuffed to the headboard.  She collapsed back against the pillow, trying to formulate an escape plan.  That was cut short as several flashes shot through her mind.  She was in every one of them.  One she held a small box which she pressed a button and an explosion ripped through the vision.  The next, she held a gun to a man's head, him begging for his life, her sadistic smile spreading across her face as she fired.  Lastly was Sloane, hooking her up to the gigantic machine full of all different mechanisms, telling her that she would forget her old life and only remember what he told her.  She shut her eyes to block the images out.  She couldn't find a way to get rid of them.  She was suddenly terrified of what she had seen.  Were they memories?  They seemed real enough, but she didn't want them to be true.  She heard the door open and familiar footsteps enter the room.  Sark.  Great.  Sydney knew that whatever had just happened to her was his fault.  It always was.  She reopened her eyes and focused on him.  She recognized Syrina standing supportively behind him.

"What did you do to me?"

Sark waved off the guards before folding his hands into a triangle, tapping his foot impatiently against the wood floor.  "We reinstated your memories.  You are the one who has been searching for your past.  Syrina and I simply triggered your recollections."

"How do I know these are memories?  You probably implanted these scenes in my head."

"It is entirely possible, though I thought you would appreciate the help."  
"Why would you help me?"

Sark smiled somewhat, and stopped his incessant tapping.

"The Rambaldi Prophecy has named you the woman who could bring on the Apocalypse.  Syrina is also part of the The Telling.  Together, you two will fulfill your destiny.  Since we helped you recover your past, you can help us."

Sydney scoffed at his incredible remark.  "I never asked for your help, Mr. Sark, so you shouldn't expect me to help you."

Sark shrugged nonchalantly, as if the plan did not depend on her agreeing to help.

"Fine.  You can stay locked to this bed until you begin to see things my way."

Sydney glared at him, wishing that looks could kill.  She watched Syrina place her hand on Sark's arm and whisper something unintelligible.  Sydney tried to read her lips, but she couldn't.  Sark nodded slowly and stepped away without another word to Sydney.  Sydney waited for Syrina to follow him out, but she did not move.

            Syrina stood stock still while she studied Sydney from her spot in the center of the room.  Sydney seemed to be trying to gauge her reaction to everything that had happened.  Syrina let Sydney complete her examination.  She approached Sydney, finally, pulling a chair up to the bed.  She didn't speak yet, words swirling around like a cyclone in her head.  She hadn't had much contact with Sydney, only two encounters before.  Something about the older spy reminded her of herself.  The longing for a place to belong was possibly it.  Sydney watched Syrina with careful eyes.  She wanted to help the girl, yet something about her made Sydney question whether Syrina could be helped.  Syrina had a darkness inside that Sydney both understood and feared.

"So, Miss Khasinau, why did you stay here?  Want to have a heart to heart?"  Sydney asked, needing to break the uncomfortable, tense silence.

"Something like that."  Syrina shifted in her seat, crossing her legs elegantly.

"Miss Bristow, you are by far one of the most talented agents I have come across."

"I'm sure you've encountered a lot of them."

Syrina narrowed her eyes, an abrupt annoyance bubbling up inside of her.  Sydney was being quite condescending towards her, even though she'd proven herself time and again.

"I have.  What I was saying is I'm much better.  I've been spying just as long as you have and I've been trained by the best.  That is how I managed to capture you, Agent Sydney Bristow, spy extraordinaire.  Now this Rambaldi Code that everyone believes in named me as an instrument of the Code.  I never really understood Rambaldi, to be honest, but everyone around me believes steadfastly in his work.  I've kind of accepted it.  I was raised with the Rambaldi work. It was like a religion with my father and Irina.  I haven't known anything else.  Even A-Sark believes in it.  I read the Prophecy.  I don't want to believe in this stuff anymore.  I'm just surrounded by it, no matter how far I run.  I'll be stuck with it forever.  I think you're experiencing the same thing I am.   You can't run from The Telling or Il Dire. You have to face the consequences of what some old guy from hundreds of years ago says."

Sydney didn't reply, a little surprised that Syrina had just explained everything she had been feeling.  The only thing Syrina had passed over was the anger she felt towards Arvin Sloane for stealing two years of her life to make her a cold-blooded murderer for Rambaldi.  Syrina continued her long-winded speech, not really leaving Sydney an opening to speak.

"I was said to be The Two.  That is the one who will either help you or stop you from bringing on the Apocalypse.  I was genetically designed to choose.  It won't even by my real choice, just what I've been programmed to pick.  You're supposed to listen to me.  But for us to finish off this Rambaldi Prophecy to rid ourselves of that bloody man, you have to work with me.  Sydney, I'll unlock you and we can begin, but I have to have your word that you won't try to escape."

Sydney didn't promise anything.  Not yet.

"You really think we'll be done with Rambaldi after this?"

Syrina nodded imperceptibly, waiting.

"Fine.  I won't attempt an escape."

Syrina couldn't stop a wide smile for covering her whole face.  She might be free of this mess for a while.  She could only hope.  Dreams of moving away to a house with a picket fence and Andrew floated through her mind.  She shook the thoughts away and moved towards Sydney.  She unlocked the handcuffs and Sydney dropped her hands, massaging the red-rimmed rings around her chafed wrists.  

"Come on.  Let's go tell Sark the lovely news."

Sydney stood.  "You and Sark are close?"

Syrina rolled her eyes, her teenage years breaking through for a moment.  She refused to answer as she led Sydney into the living room.


	9. Normalcy

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Nine_**

**_Normalcy_**

            Syrina was curled up in a ball, eyes shut tightly.  She wanted to block out the horrid feeling rushing over her.  Her head pounded and her skull felt like it was ready to explode.  She cursed Rambaldi and his idiotic, invasive prophecies.  Deep down, in the pit of her stomach, she knew that the change coming over her body was her destiny.  She was about to fulfill her destiny.  Was it because of the date or was it because of her nearness to Sydney Bristow?  She didn't think she'd ever know the answer to that question.  She suppressed a moan as the pounding increased.  Suddenly, cool skin feathered over her hot forehead, relaxing her tension without much coaxing.  "Syri, what's wrong with you?"  He whispered it so not to worsen her headache.  She allowed herself to scoot towards Sark to his warm embrace.  "It's the Prophecy.  My decision, it's almost awakening inside my body.  I don't know if that makes any sense at all."

"I understand."  He stroked her silky brown and she shivered in pleasure.

"I don't know what you said to Sydney, but she is being surprisingly cooperative.  I fear that will be cut short when we pick Alli up."

"We could exclude her from this whole mission, Andrew."

"She has been involved with this as long as the both of us have.  It won't be fair to cut her from this."

Syrina sighed, the memory of her hatred towards Allison resurfacing.  Sark squeezed Syrina and pressed a firm kiss on the crown of her head.  

"We must retrieve Alli, then move on to Kysokos.  Il Dire should be there where we can play out the Prophecy and hopefully continue living."

"And put Rambaldi behind us."

"Yes."

Syrina pulled away form Sark.  
"I'm going to go find a large aspirin bottle and down it."

He smiled at her exaggeration.  "We don't have any on the estate."

"I'll go on into D'Avignon, then."

"Be back in an hour.  We need to leave soon."

"All right, Daddy."

She returned his smile with a coy look before turning to the door.

"Don't let Sydney beat you up too badly, Andrew."

Sark tossed a pillow from the coach to the door and she ducked, a small giggle erupting from her.  She disappeared into the hallway and all Sark could think of was how amazing Syrina Khasinau was.

            Syrina traveled down the main road, unsure of where she was going.  She just seemed to be wandering around, yet she knew exactly where she was headed.  The tiny store she'd shopped at the day before came into view.  Understanding spread over her.  She wanted to see Christopher again.  He had been so kind to her, so carefree with her.  He was young and innocent and average, something Syrina wished she could be.  She wanted to be normal, live with her parents, attend a secondary academy, and have friends and a boyfriend.  Of course, craving normalcy did absolutely nothing for her.  She pushed open the door, allowing the cinnamon scented air attack her senses.  She stopped at the entry to absorb the scene.

"Mademoiselle Mysterieuse!  I was positive I would never get the chance to see you again.  Your boy seemed to think you would be leaving."

Syrina lifted her eyes to meet Christopher's gaze.

"I was supposed to leave yesterday.  Instead, we stayed one more night.  We're leaving in an hour.  I came in to buy some aspirin.  And he's not my boy."

Christopher grabbed a bottle from the counter and tossed it to her.  Her hand shot up and captured it with ease.

"You have quick-reflexes."

Syrina chuckled and shrugged a bit.

"Yes, well, I was trained to have them."

"In school?"

"Not exactly."

"You have become cryptic again."

"Also part of my training."

Her face broke into a wide grin, not able to resist saying it.  Christopher shook his head disbelievingly.  "I will miss your presence very much, Syrina."

Syrina stepped forward to lean on the counter.  She tilted her head acutely.

"I will miss you, too.  I know I haven't known you for very long, but you've made me feel…regular.  That's more than anyone else has done for me.  Thank you."

Christopher raised his palm, cupping her cheek sweetly.

"You seem so sad, Mademoiselle, and I wish I could do more for you.  Make your beautiful smile appear again."

Syrina's heart thudded painfully inside her chest, the loss of a new friend weighing on her heart.  She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips onto his mouth carefully.  He pulled her closer to him, holding her, unwilling to let this girl vanish from his life.  Syrina pulled away and pushed a few francs in his hand.

"Good-bye, Christopher."

"Adieu, Syrina."

Syrina dashed down the walkway and into the street.  Tears stung her eyes, the loss of Christopher and the loss of someone who had the possibility of making her human again burning every inch of her body.  She couldn't think about anything anymore.

            Sydney entered the living room to find Sark sitting casually on a chaise.  She had a hard time visualizing Sark as casual, though she didn't mind it exactly.  Sark still bothered her, frayed her last nerve, but she was adapting to their new alliance.  Sark seemed to be lost in thought and she almost hated to disturb his thoughts.

"Sark?"

He opened his eyes and glared.

"So sorry to interrupt.  I'm just bored.  For having such a nice house, you certainly have a limited selection of entertainment."

Sark rolled his eyes, making him seem younger than usual.  "We don't spend a great deal of time in D'Avignon, so we aren't too worried about extensive entertainment."

Sydney shrugged before flopping ungracefully onto the couch.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"You were meditating?"

"Sure."

Sydney sighed.  "You were thinking about Syrina Khasinau."

"I was not."

"Excellent argument."

"What makes you presume I was thinking about Syrina?"

"You do realize for being such a master deceiver, you don't hide your feelings for Syrina very well."

"I do not have feelings for Syrina."

"Once more, with feeling."

Sark growled, feeling incredibly defensive.

"Why would I discuss my feelings with you anyway?  We are only temporary allies.  Soon, we'll be arch nemesis again."

"Well, prying into your personal life provides me with a much needed distraction."

"I would-"

"I'm home, Andrew."

Sark glanced up to find Syrina standing in the doorway, her brown hair waving around her face.  Something about her facial expression worried Sark.  It reminded him of someone losing themselves, something that had happened to him so long ago.

"Are you all right, Syrina?"

"I'm fine.  Let's go."

Sark stood, debating whether to pry further.  He could feel Sydney's eyes boring into his back, so he immediately decided he had to prove Sydney Bristow wrong.

"Come on, then.  Sydney, we'll drive to the airport where my plane is grounded."  He said to fill Sydney in on a part of the plan.  The three gathered their bags and rushed to the car.


	10. Flight

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Ten_**

**_Flight_**

            The plane ride had been uncannily silent.  Syrina stretched across the plane seats, chomping her gum.  That was one constant sound, the squishy noise.  Sydney stared out the window, watching the fluffy white clouds float by.  Sark, staying true to form, poured over his computer, studying blue prints of the warehouse in Kysokos.  Each hardly moved from their positions as they waited.  The plane landed smoothly on the tarmac and the doors opened.  Sydney thought they'd arrived in Kysokos and made movements towards standing up slowly.  She hadn't expected what she saw come through the door.  Francie, or more accurately, Allison Doren, climbing up the stairs to enter the plane.  Sydney's face fell into utter pain and for a minute, Syrina could almost feel her angst.  Sark watched all three girls carefully and couldn't help but laugh when Allison cracked, "Well, this is going to be a fun plane ride."

Sydney and Syrina, the two women Alli hated most in the world, who despised her with equal passion, crammed together on a six-hour flight.  This was going to be absolutely delightful.  Sydney's pain turned into outrage, outrage towards Sark.

"You son of a…"She couldn't finish.  She tried desperately to compose herself.

"You never told me she was coming."

"It's not my responsibility to keep you informed of the members of this team.  Syrina has accepted Allison's involvement, you would be wise to do so also."

Sydney noticed Syrina's look of disgust and realized it wasn't directed at her.  It was directed towards Allison.  Apparently, the two had a bit of animosity between them.  Something Sydney could relate to.  Allison stepped forward to go to another seat, but Sydney blocked her way.  Her eyes challenged Allison, a challenge Allison was ready to take.  She readied herself to fight, but Sark stepped between the two women before anything could occur.  "Play nice, ladies.  We have a long ride ahead of us and it won't do if you're both weak after fighting each other.  Sit down.  Both of you."

Allison took the chair closest to Sark's previous seat.  Sydney returned to her chair and folded her arms as a sign she did not want any further contact with that woman.  Sark sighed, unable to relax because of the new tension in the plane's cabin.  Syrina blew a large bubble and popped it.  Sydney tilted her head to study the younger girl.  At the moment, she looked like a typical teenager.  She looked completely normal.  There was no sign of what she really did.  She had her eyes closed and she seemed content to chomp on her bubble gum.  Her eyes would peek open and glance dartily at Sark.  She would pink and close her eyes once again.  It was almost methodical.  Sydney enjoyed watching her.  She was like a little girl with a crush on her big brother's friend.  Only there was something different.  It was a bit deeper than a usual crush.  Then again, nothing was usual about this girl, so what did Sydney expect?  Sydney turned her attention to Allison Doren.  She seemed so smug in the chair, her legs underneath her, appearing quite casual.  She leaned closely to Sark as if to prove her possession of Sark.  But to whom?  Certainly not to Sydney.  She wasn't interested in Sark.  Then it dawned on Sydney.  That was why Allison hated Syrina.  She felt Syrina was a threat to her happiness and well-being.  Apparently Sark and Allison had some kind of love affair going on.  Sydney should have suspected it, but she was so blinded by staring at Francie's face to notice.  Perhaps she could use that against Allison, the supposed devotion Allison held towards Sark.  Sydney swiveled her eyes on Sark's form, to decide what she thought about all of this.  He leaned away from Allison, favoring his left side over his right.  He didn't want to be close to her?  He was typing, but occasionally his eyes would flick over the screen to land on Syrina and a look of worry and bliss would cover his face.  Yes, it was pretty obvious whom Sark favored.  The three held such odd relationships, Sydney finally decided.  

            They arrived in Kysokos a few awkward hours later.  The tarmac was empty and from what Sydney gathered, it was a privately owned airport.  Not surprising.  Syrina strode confidently down the steps and met with a tall man in his late 20's.  They shared kisses and Syrina seemed delighted to see him.  Sydney didn't recognize him and decided he must be a new player in the game since she'd last played.  Syrina was whispering excitedly to him and Sark was smiling fondly as well.  Allison even looked glad to see him.  Sydney watched on helplessly as they continued their reunion. 

"I'm so glad to see you, Brenny.  I've missed you so much!"  Syrina threw her arms around him, unable to contain herself.  It'd been nearly four years since she'd seen Brennan, just a little before her father had been murdered.  He was a friend of Andrew's.

****

**_*Twelve-year-old Syrina ran down the stairs of the mansion steps.  Andrew was coming home from boarding school today.  Irina and Daddy had told her that she could meet up with him this afternoon before she began more training.  She was practically bursting at the seams.  Allison stood calmly next to her on the porch, a pout on her face.  Alli was so boring sometimes.  She was mean too.  She was trying to invade on Syrina's time with Andrew and it made Syrina pretty angry.  The anger was quickly forgotten, though, as Andrew's form came into view. And behind him, another boy stood.  Syrina didn't even acknowledge the other child's presence as she flew down the pathway and launched herself at Andrew._**

**_"Andy!  I've missed you so much!  You've been gone for so long!  I have so much to tell you.  Daddy started my training!  Isn't that absolutely smashing?"_**

**_Andrew smiled slightly and nodded.  "I imagine the training is going perfect as well.  You're learning what, Japanese?"_**

**_"Of course!  Daddy says that's where my first mission is going to be."_**

**_Andrew shrugged slightly._**

**_"Syri, this is my friend, Brennan Mirali.  Brennan, this is Syrina Khasinau, Alexander's daughter."_**

**_"It's lovely to meet you, Syrina."  He had a smooth Southern accent that made Syrina want to suddenly swoon.  It was comforting.  He was the same height as Andy with blond hair and green eyes.  He was kind of cute, though not as cute as Andrew, in Syrina's opinion.  She didn't have long to dwell on his looks because Allison had finally walked down the pathway to be introduced.  She never knew who could help her higher her position.  For all she knew, this strange boy would be able to help her.  _**

**_"Brennan, this is Allison, the girl I was telling you about."_**

**_Syrina's face fell instantly.  Andrew was talking about Alli?  How could he?  She was horrid.  Absolutely horrid!  Brennan noticed right away, "Nice to meet you, Allison.  Now, come, Miss Syrina and show me around your house.  I've heard stories about your tours."_**

**_Syrina giggled and motioned for him to follow.*_**

"Are you ready for this big hurrah, Sweetheart?"  Brennan asked sweetly.  Syrina stared up at him with adoration.  He was her best friend, her favorite brother.  She was his little sister, the little runt he always watched out for.  He'd been forced into a deep cover mission for a while and then The Man's organization had been discovered.  He'd gone into hiding until he heard that Syrina had started her own organization.  He hadn't been surprised; she'd always been unbelievably spirited.  He also hadn't been surprised when Sark had finally contacted him a week ago about the Il Dire.  He'd hurried to Kysokos to do some reconnaissance and found the warehouse to be unguarded.  How ridiculous that a priceless machine be out in the open.  He turned his attention back on to Syrina.

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice, Brennan.  Did Andrew tell you about that absurd prophecy that Milo Rambaldi wrote?"

"Yes, Sweetheart, and I hardly believe that the prophecy is ludicrous.  Has he ever been wrong so far?"

"No."  Syrina admitted grudgingly.  Brennan wrapped a brotherly arm around her and began walking.  
"Come along, Allison, Sark.  I've got us a night's lodgings before we head to the warehouse all right.  And I do hope you were planning on introducing me to your friend."

Syrina tossed a look back to Sydney.  "Oh, that's Sydney Bristow."

"The legendary Sydney Bristow has come to help us on our mission?  I'm honored, Miss Bristow."

Sydney sighed.  
"Yet I'm not.  And no one has seen fit to introduce me to you."

"I'm Brennan Mirali.  I apologize for my manners."

He winked at Syrina, something that didn't go unnoticed by Sydney.  They seemed to have an interesting relationship.  If he hadn't said his last name was Mirali, she would have thought they were siblings.  The two seemed to float off into their own world as they conversed easily in Irdo, a language Sydney had never mastered.  Sydney sighed as she followed Sark and Allison to a taxicab that was parked at the curb.


	11. Il Dire

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Eleven_**

**_Il Dire_**

Brennan had taken them all back to his hotel room.  He wanted to discuss the plan with Sark before they all went barging into the warehouse where Il Dire was being held.  Il Dire had a specific, special power inside of the blasted machine and he wanted to find a way to keep them all immune to the affects of the mechanism.  He swept his eyes over his crowded room. Allison stretched out across the bed hap-hazardly, Sydney sat on the plush chair, Sark paced the floor, and Syrina knelt on the rough carpet, her knees drawn up to her chest, her back rigid against the bed.  Brennan sat next to Syrina, ecstatic to be near to the little minx again.  Syrina had always brought him pure joy.  She was like a younger sister he'd never had, like the family he'd missed out on.  He'd always been sporadic in her life, but then again, most people had.  He'd been away on missions for much of her life, but he always looked forward to seeing her again.  Syrina's wide green eyes were studying him; trust filling the irises.  She didn't trust many people.  Brennan was well aware of that.  Distrust was a hazard of the business.  It meant a lot to him that Syrina believed in him.  He wouldn't let her down.  He wouldn't be able to cope with her disappointment.  Syrina's eyes flicked over to Sark, confusion, adoration, love and trust illuminating the orbs.  Syrina and Sark weren't quite an unlikely couple in Brennan's eyes.  Maybe that was just his skewed observation.  Syrina had always had a puppy dog crush on Sark, but he'd always been preoccupied with Allison.  Now there was an unlikely couple.  He liked Allison Doren, but Sark and Alli made no sense.  They were too different to be good together.  But once again, maybe that was just Brennan's skewed observation.

"Sark, would you stop pacing?"

Sydney burst out.  She was obviously annoyed with him.  Sark did stop, though his countenance lightened.  Brennan realized that Sark enjoyed making Sydney Bristow upset.  He decided to break into their seeming competition before one of them decided to shoot the other.  

"Let's go over the specs.  We'll go to the warehouse after sunset."

Syrina changed positions to face him, her face heavy with worry and dread.

"Il Dire is in the very back of the warehouse.  It's been locked away for a lot of time.  I don't think most people are aware of what's in there.  Sloane constructed this machine over two years ago, which set in motion Rambaldi's prophecy as far as I've been able to detect.  There are no guards and no alarms.  I'm actually surprised at how lax the security is. I'm sort of disappointed in Mr. Sloane."

Sydney rolled her eyes at this, wanting to convey her displeasure in this entire situation.  Brennan shot her a disarming smile and suddenly, Sydney realized how good Brennan Mirali must be in the business.  Sydney could even see herself being charmed by this guy.

"So, basically, we'll go in under the cover of night…"

Syrina burst into girlish giggles for his mockery of spy movies.

"You sound like you're narrating a Batman movie, Brenny."

"I suppose I do, darlin'.  Now, back to the situation at hand.  Sark, Alli, and I will set up a perimeter watch around the building just in case my intel about the guards was incorrect.  I think Mr. Sloane is trying to avoid any obvious signs that something important is in the warehouse.  Sydney and Syrina will go on through the main room to room…"

"If you say 47, I will quite possibly shoot you in the head."

"Actually, it's room two, although room 47 would be fitting.  I think Sloane was going for The Two symbolism.  After that, you both will do whatever it is you two are supposed to do."

Syrina's gaze lowered shyly as the entire room fell completely silent.  It was as if the possibility that Sydney and Syrina could bring the world to complete destruction and desolation just struck them.  Brennan reached around Syrina's lithe frame and embraced her briefly.  No one said anything, not even Allison.  They sat in silence as the seconds ticked by, foreboding washing over everyone.  Allison, being the kind of person she was, broke the interminable quiet.

"So, it's dark.  When do we get to do this thing?"

Brennan pulled away from Syrina, missing the peace he'd felt with the sweet girl.  Leave it to Alli to cut straight to the point.  Sark remained stoic, his game face already in place.  Brennan glanced at Sydney and he could almost touch the turmoil raging inside of her.  Her face displayed every emotion boiling through her, and, for a brief instant, Brennan felt sorry for the legendary Agent Bristow.  He squashed the sympathy immediately, knowing the last thing this woman needed was another person to sympathize her situation.  Sydney Bristow could take care of herself.  She always had.

"We can do this 'thing' now."

The group stood up, each waiting for the other to make the first move.  Sark finally walked to the door, but before he threw it open, he spoke.

"Good luck.  I-I hope everything turns out the way we wish it."

Syrina followed Sark, her head held high.  She reached out to his hand and he squeezed her palm, wanting to reassure her.  The group followed Sark after Syrina stepped away from him, walking to the warehouse.

            The warehouse was unguarded, just as Brennan had promised.  Syrina and Sydney entered the warehouse easily as the other three spread out across the building.  Syrina stopped at the door, wondering if she could just bolt down the street and hide from everything that was about to happen.  Sydney stopped next to her, understanding the apprehension Syrina felt.  The two stood there, staring out at the empty room.  She could see the door opposite them, closed and most likely locked.  Syrina knew she didn't want to open the door.  Did Sydney?  Sydney made the first move toward the door; desire to get the entire problem over with filling her inside.  Sydney reached out to the doorknob and twisted.  It was locked.  Syrina finally made it across the giant room and pulled out a lock picking kit.  She knelt in front of the knob and placed the picks inside the lock.  She twisted the picks and she heard the latch unsnap.  Syrina raised her eyes and met Sydney's.  An understanding passed between them as Syrina stood up.  Sydney opened the door and their eyes fell on the machine.

"This is it."


	12. End

**_Syrina_**

**_Chapter Twelve_**

**_End_**

"This is it."

Syrina was sort of disappointed in the great machine that had intruded on her life for as long as she could remember.  The machine was small, no bigger than her laptop.  She recognized different parts of Rambaldi's artifacts, broken down into the smallest bits, combining together to make this mechanism.  Syrina could feel all of her worry deflating, which made her feel relieved.  All the dread she'd put into coming there seemed like a complete waste of time.  Syrina looked over at Sydney, to gage the other spy's reaction.  Syrina watched as a maniacal gleam came into Sydney's amber eyes and a sudden knowingness surged through Syrina.  Sydney wanted to destroy the world.  She wanted to make that machine do whatever it was made to do and bring an end to everything that was alive at that time.  Sydney took a few tentative steps forward, her hands reaching out to touch the glorious device.  The world deserved what it was going to get.  All the pain she'd felt, all the loss she'd experienced would be over once she set the plan into motion.  She knew instinctively what she was supposed to do, set the dial to bring about the Apocalypse.  She wanted to.  Her life suddenly seemed to make sense; everything she'd done suddenly had meaning.  She wanted to bring her wrath down.  She'd lost her fiancé, her best friends, her family, and her innocence.  She'd lost her belief in people and she'd lost her own way.  Now she knew.  She had to make humanity pay for it's own evil.  Ever since The Fall from Grace, humanity had gone downwards into a spiral of hate and despair.  Sydney could bring an end to that.  She could put everyone out of their misery.  Syrina watched in horrid fascination as emotions raged on Sydney's face and eyes as she reached towards the machine.  Syrina wasn't sure what to do.  She knew she wasn't impressed by the machine, she didn't feel like she had some need to fulfill the prophecy of ending the world.  No, she wanted to live.  She tried to move, but seemed to be frozen in her spot.  Sydney touched the appliance, the metal cold and solid.  Her hands ran over the contours of the device, her fingers gliding over every inch.  They stopped on the dial.  Sydney lifted it to set just as Syrina yelled out, "Sydney, don't do it!"

Sydney turned, an evil glint in her eyes.  "I'm helping the world.  I'm putting us out of our misery, Syrina.  Don't you see?  This is our way out!  Out of spying, out of deceit and danger.  We'll be free!"

"We'll be dead.  There's no freedom in death.  Especially so young.  We have our whole lives to live."

"You maybe.  My life ended a long time ago."

"It's only begun.  You can leave the life.  I know I will.  We just have to get out of here."

"Don't try to stop me."

Syrina sighed.  She didn't really want to fight Sydney.  She wasn't particularly in the mood to.  She just wanted to get out of that bloody warehouse and back to Andrew, back home.

"Think about what you can do after we leave here."  
"Back into the world of murder and hate?  There isn't anything out there to make me want to go on."

"Oh, get over it.  Life sucks.  That's no reason to destroy the entire universe."

Sydney started to turn the dial, but Syrina kicked.  The machine flew into the air and Sydney gasped.  She cursed before attacking Syrina.  She punched Syrina and she heard her jaw crack.  No doubt she was in pain, but Syrina wasn't going to let Sydney finish what she'd started.  Syrina ducked Sydney's next fist and brought her knee up into Sydney's stomach.  Sydney brought her elbow up and hit Syrina in the diaphragm.  Syrina gasped for air, unable to breath.  Her ribs felt like they'd cracked from the pressure.  She watched as Il Dire fell down, almost into Sydney's open arms.  Syrina kicked her legs up; knocking Sydney back and Il Dire fell to the floor.  Syrina stood over the device and started clawing at the machine.  She tore it bit by bit, but before it was completely disengaged, she was jerked back by her long brown hair.  Syrina yelped and struggled to get away, but Sydney punched her in the face again.  And again. Syrina was at an awkward angle and she could get away from Sydney.  Sydney kicked her ribs and this time Syrina knew they were broken.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in that much pain.  She prayed for a moment that Il Dire was destroyed as she heard Sydney scream in agony.  Sydney dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face.  Syrina scooted away and lifted the machine once more and crashed it against the cement floor.  She left, masking her pain, leaving Sydney on the floor, writhing and crying in pain.

            Sark glanced at his watch again.  He wished he could go inside the warehouse and protect Syrina from whatever was supposed to happen. He wanted to shield her from any more pain.  He was anxious as well as impatient.  He wanted to know what was happening.  Too bad Rambaldi's bloody prophecy didn't say exactly what would happen.  He could hear screaming and yelling and he had to fight the urge to run inside the warehouse and destroy Il Dire once and for all.  Maybe after this was over, he could take Syrina away from this.  She could go to a regular high school and live a normal life.  Yeah, right.  Neither of them would be able to stand that.  Sark started to tap his foot, watching the entryway.  Just any sign that it was all over would be all right with him.  Syrina finally emerged, bloody and bruised, gasping for air.  She looked like she was about to collapse.  Sark dashed forward in time to catch her in his arms.  She closed her eyes, trying to divert her focus from the pain she felt.  She was pretty sure Sydney had broken her ribs and she might have punctured a lung.  She couldn't breath, her chest felt tight.  She stared up into Sark's crystal blue eyes, suddenly looking like the little girl from long ago, begging Sark to take her to an amusement park or a picture.  

"It's over.  She's inside.  You should send someone."

Sark called into his comm. link "Brennan, head inside.  Sydney's still in there.  It's finished."

Brennan shouted an affirmative before heading inside the warehouse.  Sark turned his attention back on Syrina, brushing her hair back, but found it matted with blood.  Had she wounded her head?  Perhaps it was from one of the many times she'd fallen to the ground.

"Syri, you did a smashing job.  I'm so proud of you."  

He glanced around, looking for Alli, hoping she would see the dire situation Syrina was in and call an ambulance.  He saw Allison standing under a tree, watching but not moving.

"Allison, call an ambulance. Hurry."

"We can't bring outside sources into this, Andrew."

"We have to, Allison.  She needs one desperately."

"Guess she's not as tough as she thought she was."

"Allison, call one.  Right now.  That's an order."

Allison watched him, trying to decide if she should defy him or not.  She finally pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.  Syrina closed her eyes, feeling exhausted.  All she wanted to do was sleep.  She could talk to Andrew the next day or any other day after that.

"No. Syrina, you have to stay awake right now."

"I'm so tired, Andrew."

"I know you are, Little One. Please, Love, stay awake for a just a bit more."

Syrina focused her eyes on him, watching his beautifully ironic angelic face.

            Brennan found Sydney in a heap on the floor.  Next to her lay broken pieces of old, brittle metal.  Sydney was sobbing, pain, loss and confusion spreading over her.  She was in pain from her fight with Syrina as well; a cut above her eyebrow, a bruise forming on her arm, and a wrist probably fractured from that kick Syrina had produced. Sydney had still fared much better than Syrina had.  Brennan knelt next to her and spoke in his soothing Southern accent.

"Sydney.  You did a great job, Darlin'.  Come on now. We need to get out of this awful warehouse.  Syrina needs us to help her get fixed up.  She looked pretty bad.  Apparently you pack quite a punch."

Sydney lifted her head, the despair evident on her face.  Brennan placed a gentle arm around her.  
"I almost ended the world, Brennan."

"That's nothin', Sydney.  Just another day in the neighborhood."

Sydney coughed a little.  "You just referenced Mr. Rogers."  

"You'll find I reference things a lot.  Now get up and stop your caterwauling."  

"Do people even use that word anymore?"

"I do, Miss Bristow.  Do you have a problem with that?"

"I suppose I don't."  Sydney paused, the tears slowing to a stop.

"Where am I supposed to go after this?  Back to LA?  I don't think I want to."  
"You could always come with me.  I have quite a spread in Germany.  I'm kind of tired of being on missions all the time.  I figured I'd take a break.  You could as well."

Sydney tilted her head.  "I guess I could."

Brennan shot her a 1000-watt smile.  He stood, offering her a hand.  Sydney took it, wondering what she was getting herself into, but not really caring.  They walked out into the moonlight together, finding Sark rocking Syrina as gently as he would be a baby.

            Syrina couldn't keep her eyes open.  Her chest pains were worsening and she didn't know what to do to stop them.  Sark kept talking to her in his comforting British accent, trying to get her to stay awake.  She wanted to.  She wanted to talk to him and tell him that she was in love with him.  It wasn't a puppy dog crush like everyone thought.  She was truly, madly in love with him.  The pain was a little too much, though, and the desire to sleep was overwhelming her.  Her breathing was hitched and she could see the fear in Sark's eyes.  He was probably afraid she was going to leave him, just like everyone else did.  She was afraid of that, too.

"Syri, you know I love you, don't you?"

"I know.  I'm like your little sister."

"No.  You're not.  You're a woman with whom I've fallen deeply in love with.  I couldn't stop myself."

Syrina smiled, or attempted it.  It was becoming increasingly hard to breath.  She was pretty sure her lung was gone, that she was only breathing on one.  Her jaw hurt, she could hardly speak.  Still, she wanted him to know how she felt.  
"I love you, too, Andrew.  I always have."

"I know, Love."

Her eyes shut, trying to think happy thoughts.  Rainbows.  Bunny Rabbits.  Sark's rare smile.

"I'll always love you."

Sark's face darkened, realizing that Syrina thought she was going to die.

"You aren't going to die, Syri.  I won't let that happen.  You know I will stop it."

"I always knew Rambaldi would kill us.  At least you got lucky, Andrew."

"Not if you die."

Syrina did smile this time, but it ended when another sharp pain shot through her heart.  Syrina gasped for air, but it wouldn't come.  Perhaps her other lung had been punctured.  Maybe she was tired of trying. Maybe she had no control over it at all.  But she couldn't breathe anymore.  Sark had been watching her chest rise and fall and he watched it stop.  He heard sirens from far away, but they were too late.  Maybe if he hadn't had to fight with Allison to call the paramedics, she would have lived.  Maybe if he'd stopped the Rambaldi nonsense a long time ago, she would have lived.  Maybe he had no control over it.  The red and blue flashing lights stopped in front of him.  Brennan was holding Sydney, which Sark didn't quite understand.  Allison stood alone, which he did understand.  And he couldn't let go of Syrina as the paramedics came and tried to revive her for 15 minutes before they declared her dead.  

Syrina Khasinau was a child.  

Syrina Khasinau was a woman.  

Syrina Khasinau was the best spy he'd ever known.

Syrina Khasinau had been evil. 

Syrina Khasinau had been innocent.  

Syrina Khasinau died at age seventeen after several years of dangerous spying.  

Syrina Khasinau had not been alone.  

Andrew Sark, on the other hand, was alone.

A.N. That's the end!  I hope you all enjoyed it!  I hadn't really planned on killing Syrina off.  I was going to go the happily ever after route, but suddenly I realized that it would be better for Syrina to die.  Perhaps have more impact that way, maybe a tad bit more realistic.  Everything is not puppy dogs and sunshine, so I went that route.


End file.
